


Not Featured on the Mojave Stage

by LittleMousling



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Foot massages, Hooking up with friends, Love, M/M, Multi, Trust, Voyeurism, club drugs, coachella, scalp massages, sex under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling
Summary: It turns out that getting a private villa for Coachella was absolutely worth it.
Relationships: Jon Favreau/Emily Black Favreau, Jon Favreau/Emily Black Favreau/Jon Lovett, Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett, Jon Lovett/Ronan Farrow, Ronan Farrow/Jon Favreau/Emily Black Favreau/Jon Lovett
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	Not Featured on the Mojave Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this photo of Jon Favreau looking like a lanky snack](http://imgur.com/a/7KcX8rn) and the wonderful [Kenopsia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/pseuds/kenopsia), and with thanks to the whole BWTT crew!

Lovett plucks one of the pills from Tommy’s palm, rolling it between his fingers. “Culturally, you bringing these to me is definitely backwards. I blame Coachella’s whole straight vibe for this confusion of our roles. Gay guy brings the club drugs, that’s the way it works.”

“You brought Miller Lite and edibles,” Hanna points out. “I think this is on you.” 

Ronan laughs, and Lovett manages to stifle his own. “So my karmic punishment for preferring hetero mind-altering substances is that Tommy brings me free molly? I’m not sure I’m seeing the downside, actually.”

Jon picks up one of the pills himself, squinting at the indented image. “I’d feel better trying it here,” Jon says. “Just in case. If it’s nice we can do it again at the venues tomorrow, right?”

Tommy shrugs. “Sure. I think Han and I are gonna go out today, though.”

“We’ll stay with you, Jon,” Ronan volunteers. “There's nothing I want to see until this evening, anyway.” 

Emily steps towards Jon and kisses the point of his shoulder. “Relaxing here sounds nice. I want to lie around on a towel for a while this afternoon.” Jon glances at her, not exactly subtle in his appreciation for that idea, and Lovett feels warm the way he always does when he sees their affection. 

He’d gone to bed with them a couple of times, back in DC. More with Jon than with Emily, for obvious reasons, but it had been unexpectedly great having her there, helping rev Jon up. Once he moved it wasn’t anything that was likely to happen again, and it hasn’t mattered; he has Ronan, and they have each other. Vacations with the group of them always bring the memories back to the surface, though. 

“So we’re doing club drugs for brunch?” Ronan asks, interrupting Lovett’s thoughts. “I mean, that’s fine, I’m just checking.”

“If we do it now we can hang out in here and not get sunburned and I can still tan before dinner,” Emily muses. “Sounds nice.” 

Hanna’s looking at them like she can't understand why they don't want to come watch some afternoon shows, but Lovett likes the idea of staying in, now that Jon’s floated it. It’s been a good while since he last downed anything in the club-drug family, but he’s pretty sure it’s going to make sitting around the villa seem just as fun as it would make a concert feel. And in here, he doesn’t have to worry about the loss of inhibitions around thousands of Coachellans with iPhone cameras. 

“Okay,” Tommy says, and drops the rest of the pills back into the baggie. “We’ll see you guys for dinner, then, and go back out together after? Have fun. Please take pictures if anyone does anything memorably ridiculous.”

“Deal,” Emily agrees, grinning at him. 

By the time Tommy and Hanna are out the door, the rest of them are well ensconced on the enclosed patio, which has a view of the lawn and the private pool. The furniture isn’t particularly comfortable, but the carpet is, and it’s the best room in the villa for sitting around together shooting the shit. “So—are we doing this?” Emily asks. There’s a chorus of agreement, and Jon is the first to actually reach for the pills on the table. 

“Here’s to not being in government,” Jon says, lifting it, and then sets it on his tongue. Lovett doesn’t _not_ watch the pink of his tongue, but Ronan’s reaching past him for theirs, and Lovett turns to raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Do you really—all right, avert your eyes, everyone, because Jonathan’s a romantic,” Ronan says, setting two pills on his own tongue and letting Lovett lean in to kiss one of them back from him. It’s funnier than it is sexy, but it’s still kissing Ronan, still sends a zip of heat to his belly. Ronan leans back just enough to murmur in his ear, “If that’s the kind of high you want, we could go back to the bedroom.” 

Extremely tempting. But they can do that at home, and they’d promised to keep Jon company. “Maybe we’ll take a couple home with us and try that after your trip,” Lovett whispers back, and then leans back against the couch, shifting until he’s comfortable. 

Emily’s watching them when he looks over, and she grins at him. There aren’t any pills left on the table, so she must have taken hers. “You guys can keep making out,” she says. “I don’t mind a live show.” 

Ronan chuffs a laugh, stretching his arms behind his head. “Uh-huh. I think Jon would get bored.”

She glances at him, and Lovett follows her look. Jon’s cross-legged on the carpet, eschewing the uncomfortable chairs, his long arms wrapped around his mostly bare legs. He looks entirely edible, and unaware of it. “I mean, if you let me look at my phone, I definitely won’t be bored.”

“No phones!” Lovett says, for about the fortieth time this vacation. “We’re spending time with our _friends_, like humans _used to do_ in the age before Steve Jobs.” 

No one pushes him on it, which is too bad, as he’s up for a nice low-stakes argument. Ronan finishes stretching and leans back against him, nuzzling into Lovett’s neck for a moment before he twists enough to be leaning back against Lovett’s side. “Think it might be starting to kick in,” Ronan says. “Feels nice.”

“That’s just vacation,” Lovett tells him. “You haven’t experienced it in so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like.”

Emily giggles, kicking her legs up over the arm of her chair. “I don’t know, he might be right. I do feel nice now.” 

“Placebo effect,” Lovett declares. It’s too early. But he does feel warm with Ronan against him, with Jon and Emily relaxing across from them. He looks out at the bright midday sun glinting off the pool and loses track of time for a while. 

He isn’t asleep, but isn’t exactly at his full wakefulness, when Emily says, too-loud in the quiet of the room, “Ronan, did you know we hooked up with Lovett a couple times in DC?”

Lovett blinks, turning his attention back to the room, as Ronan says, “I like that you think that’s the kind of thing Jonathan could resist telling me.” 

“Good point,” Emily agrees. Jon looks bashful, tipping his chin down, but the corners of his mouth are curving outward despite himself. 

“The interesting part to me,” Ronan continues, “is that it was only the twice.”

Lovett’s told Ronan about that. Distance, for one, after he moved to LA. But more than that; it hasn’t felt necessary. He gets plenty of Jon and Emily’s attention without taking his clothes off, plenty of their time and their affection. He almost objects, but then Emily’s saying, “Well, we suggested it a couple of times after we moved to LA, but he never took us up on it, so I kind of figured that wasn’t something you were up for him doing.” 

Lovett squints at her. “Um, that didn’t happen.” 

“It definitely did,” Jon pipes up. He still looks embarrassed, face flushed a little—he doesn’t get pink like Tommy does, but he gets blotchy and dark—but he’s looking up at them steadily. “You were pretty definitive about turning us down.”

“I have literally no idea what you’re talking about,” Lovett says. “That would not have happened.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell for me,” Ronan agrees. “And he would have told me about it. Like, a lot.” Lovett jostles him with an elbow, the non-verbal objection, and Ronan laughs. “Okay, but you would.”

“Fine. I would, which is how we know I’m right and that never happened.” Lovett sits forward, and then sags back, because okay, _now_ it’s hitting him. “Whoa.”

“I don’t feel it,” Emily says. “I think. What do you feel?”

Lovett glances back at Jon, who seems to be all lightly-furred limbs and throat right now, and says, “Horny?”

Ronan laughs. He sounds drunk—or, well, high, Lovett supposes. “I think he’s picking up what you put down, Emily. You better tell him if it’s off the table by now.”

Emily and Jon exchange looks. Jon’s blinking slowly; he’s doing everything slowly. “It’s on the table,” Emily says. “It never came off the table.” 

Lovett loves that, the silent communication between them. He and Ronan have that, but they’re both big talkers by nature, made more so by years of phone calls, so they don’t use it much. Watching Emily and Jon’s connection, their trust, makes him feel a dozen things at once: warm for them, and for himself. Love for them, and love for Ronan, and comfort and familiarity and, right at this moment, a very significant zing of want.

Jon signalled _yes_, something Emily could read, and that _yes_ means Lovett can touch those long limbs and feel the muscles underneath, the soft fuzz of hair that Jon definitely had less of the last time Lovett touched him all over. 

He’s off the couch before he’s fully made a plan, but it’s just so easy and obvious to push Jon’s arms to the sides, Jon laughing up at him, and straddle his lap. It’s the most natural thing in the world, with Emily and Ronan giggling, and Ronan saying “lap dance!” in a very dorky, giddy voice. 

Emily says, “I second the motion!” and gestures too wildly, almost tipping off the chair. 

Jon’s grinning but not laughing anymore, staring into Lovett's face, warm and open and welcoming, and Lovett _really_ understands club drugs now, like _absolutely_ gets it. He just wants to rub himself all over Jon—all over any of them.

Lovett's balance is a little better than Emily's, but only a little, and he wants to be able to touch all of Jon. "You should lie down," Lovett tells him, because that would definitely help, and Jon glances at Emily, and then at Ronan, and then takes his shirt off. Which is not lying down, but Lovett is not exactly complaining. In these shorts, Jon’s all skin and hair right now, masculine and infinitely touchable. "You're very fuzzy."

"Okay?" Jon agrees. It sounds a little dazed, which might be less from the drugs and more from the fact that Lovett's running his hands up and down Jon's chest, deliberately catching his nipples on every pass. Jon likes nipple play; Lovett remembers that. He remembers all of it, suddenly and vividly.

Emily gets up, unsteady, and plants a kiss on Lovett's head as she passes behind him to sit with Ronan. Lovett watches her, twisting his body as she goes. "The view's good from here," she announces, to the room in general. "Touch my hair now," she aims specifically at Ronan, settling on the floor between his calves.

Lovett turns back towards Jon, now he's seen that Emily and Ronan are all set. "If you lie down I can touch you better," Lovett points out. "Very simple equation, anyone could calculate the—" He stops, because Jon's lying back. "Well—right. Good. Yes." He isn't sure which direction he wants to go. If he shifts up he can give Jon some real friction, but if he shifts down he can touch the long line of Jon's fuzzy thighs, and that seems—yes. That's what he wants. He wants that so much, so suddenly and intensely that it makes his hands tremble, and he pushes himself back at speed until he's kneeling over Jon's calves.

"You're far away now," Jon complains, not sitting up.

Lovett ignores him, because Jon's knees are soft-skinned and sensitive underneath, and because Jon's thighs are spread just enough under him that he can stroke a hand halfway up the space between them. 

Jon shuts up, swallowing audibly, and behind him, Lovett hears, "Oh, that's pretty," and "It really is," and "He should blow him," and "Definitely. Wait, which—oh, wow, okay, he does that?" and "Not lately, but—" and "He should definitely, definitely blow him."

Lovett's not listening to their suggestions just yet; he's busy communing with the muscle of Jon's thighs, firm under his palms. Jon's in unstructured knit shorts; Lovett can reach all the way up onto his hips, never running out of bare thigh, before he comes back down to tease the soft insides and undersides and get distracted again by the pelt of him. "You weren't this hairy in DC," Lovett tells him. "When did this happen?"

"Third puberty," Emily agrees, behind him. "It's hot, right?"

"Very," Ronan says, before Lovett can answer. Maybe she was asking him. Lovett just keeps touching. Jon's hard, unmistakable in those shorts, and Lovett's mouth is watering just looking at it, but he wants to touch more of Jon, first.

Jon's neck—Jon has such a good neck. And shoulders. And biceps. Lovett's crawling back up, but he gets stuck on the insides of Jon's elbows on the way there, the way Jon twitches and groans when he teases there. Or maybe that's because Lovett's sitting square over his cock now; who's to say.

He leans down and kisses the side of Jon's throat, the point of his jaw. His stubbled cheek. "Oh," he says, remembering they haven't kissed yet, and rectifies that. There's a pair of laughing whoops and hollers behind him, and Jon's arms come up to hold him closer, keep his mouth where Jon wants it.

They kiss for a minute. Maybe a lot longer than a minute. Time swims until Emily says, moaning it, "This is better than sex," and Jon breaks away from him to say "Hey now—"

Ronan's giving her a scalp massage, fingers deep in her hair, scritching a little here and there. Lovett's head tingles just watching it. "That _is_ better than sex," he agrees.

"No, it isn't," Ronan tells him. "Let Jon blow you now."

Okay. Ronan has a point there.

Jon's blinking, slow and happy, when Lovett twists back around to focus on him. "You're kind of on my kidneys," Jon tells him. "Just FYI."

"You're gonna blow me?" Lovett asks him. It doesn't sound quite right, but Ronan usually knows what he's talking about.

"Yeah," Jon tells him. "Yeah. God, come here already," and he's tugging at Lovett's shorts, Lovett's ass, trying to pull him closer, suddenly needy. "Why are you wearing all these stupid—these—"

Lovett doesn't know, but he definitely isn't going to be able to get up and get them off. He can get his dick out, though, and offer it on the flat of his palm to Jon.

"Get him a pillow," Ronan calls, which sort of breaks the moment, but also, once again, he's right. There's at least a pillow close to hand, where Emily had tossed it off the chair, and it stuffs under Jon's neck like it's meant to be there.

"You didn't do this in DC," Lovett mumbles.

"Well—I probably would've, if we'd hooked up again," Jon tells him. "You're still too far away."

Lovett doesn't think he is, but he knees a little closer, leans up and, when Jon doesn't move, rubs the head of his cock against Jon's parted lips.

"Jesus Christ," Emily says. "We gotta—can you drag the couch over if I—"

There's a long screeching scrape of metal on stone, and then, "Oh, yeah. That's a much better angle. Wow."

Lovett's frozen in place, trying desperately not to laugh. Or come. Both seem like very real possibilities with Jon's mouth just soft and still against him, with their audience getting all too comfortable just in his peripheral vision. They've moved on to foot massages now, apparently.

"Um—this is novel," Lovett tells Jon, finally, when he can't take the stillness anymore. Jon's eyes move up from where they'd been staring at Lovett's dick, and he looks truly blissed out, heavy-lidded and happy. It's possible Jon's experiencing time a little differently than Lovett is, just now.

Jon opens his mouth, and his hand comes up to Lovett's ass, pushing him forward.

"Oh, that's good," Emily groans. Lovett has no idea if that's from the foot massage or for the live sex show, and doesn't quite have the brain capacity to care. Jon's just taking it, not moving at all except his hand on Lovett's ass, encouraging Lovett to push in and then, plucking at Lovett's shorts, to pull back out.

Jon wants Lovett to fuck his mouth? Right. God. Lovett _really_ understands club drugs, now. He may have to change his whole life around this discovery.

He slides into Jon's mouth again, slow and easy, not too deep, and gives into the temptation to run the pad of his thumb over the soft, wet pillow of Jon's lip. Jon's eyes flutter shut, and he groans, the vibration telegraphing just slightly to Lovett's cock. "He likes that," Emily announces. "He likes a hand on his throat, too."

"Hot." Ronan's voice is deeper; he's definitely hard. Lovett knows that voice. "I don't know if he can reach, though."

He probably can't; this isn't the right position for that. But now all four of them are thinking about it, and that's pretty fucking hot all on its own. Lovett knows a good alternative, anyway, if that's the kind of thing Jon likes; he hooks a finger into the corner of Jon's mouth and pulls, just enough to let Jon feel it. "Nice," Ronan says, breathy. Jon grunts, fingers squeezing down on Lovett's ass.

"Oh, he likes that," Emily says. She's gone into full announcer mode. "You should go faster."

Lovett doesn't want faster, not yet. He wants to fuck Jon's mouth slow and steady, and watch Jon's eyes blink back open to watch him do it. He wants to scratch his nails, not too hard, through Jon's hair and grab his head to hold him in place. Jon isn't trying to move, but Lovett wants him to feel that Lovett could keep him here, anyway. Jon's hand moves up to Lovett's lower back, splayed out, keeping him close as much as Lovett's doing the same.

"Is Jon going to die of blue balls, or what?" Ronan whispers, entirely audibly.

"He's good at waiting," Emily says, full volume. "He's great at it."

"He's great at this," Lovett croaks. Jon isn't exactly doing anything but encouraging Lovett to use his mouth, but that's—Lovett's getting a hell of a lot out of that, so he's prepared to call it skill.

Jon's lips are pinker now than when he started, friction-reddened, maybe even a little swollen. That's probably Lovett's imagination running away with him, but it's hot, and it makes him jerk forward, shoving his cock up against the textured roof of Jon's mouth. "Fuck," Lovett gasps, and does it again, Jon's hand still broad and encouraging on his back. "Fuck, yes."

"Okay, that's—I need my hands back," Ronan mutters, and Lovett hears the clink of his belt. Only Ronan is wearing shorts that require a belt, and a polo shirt with a little Ralph Lauren logo, when they're just lounging around the villa trying illicit substances. He's wonderful and ridiculous like that.

Lovett doesn't need to look to know Ronan's jerking off, and there's a much quieter, "Ooh, nice," from Emily overlaying the sound of hand on cock.

Emily, when Lovett turns his head, is laying back, looking as though she's skipped right past all of them into the sated, post-coital part of the afternoon. Ronan, meanwhile, is wild-eyed, braced forward on one hand instead of leaning back against the couch. Ronan loves a good visual.

Lovett can give him that for sure. He curls forward more, changing the angle, getting a little deeper. Jon's hand flutters on his back but settles, his eyes closing as he focuses on breathing, on the little bit of suction he can add to the mix now. 

He's gorgeous like this. Lovett can't fucking believe that Jon would have blown him that couple of times in DC and that he didn't even know. He would definitely have made sure there was a third threesome before he left town if he'd known what he was leaving on the table after the first two. "Gorgeous," Lovett tells him. "Look at you."

"Pornographic," Emily agrees, sleepily. "The kind of porn you have to pay for."

"Fuck," Ronan groans, loud, close already. Lovett smirks. Lovett's the porn star of Ronan's dreams, thank you very much.

Jon's other arm has been trapped, Lovett's knee pinning it, but Jon frees it now and manages to get his hand on Lovett's cock. It might be to keep Lovett from going too deep, or it might just be to add texture to the blowjob, but either way, Lovett's into it. He can keep up a faster rhythm this way, not worrying so much about choking Jon, and Jon's getting more insistent on his end, too, sucking and managing to swirl his tongue around the head of Lovett's cock on some of the upstrokes.

"That's so good, that's, you're sucking me so good," Lovett mutters, knowing he's not at his peak coherence. "So hot, Jon, letting me fuck your throat, letting me—god, just like that, yeah."

He's close. He's close, and beside him, just out of view, Ronan gasps and grunts and goes silent, a familiar string of sounds. Emily makes a pleased sort of "mm" noise, and Jon echoes it, a hum in his throat that this time, with Lovett much deeper in his mouth, feels like exactly what Lovett needs.

"Fuck, fuck," Lovett gasps, grabbing Jon's hand in his own and pinning it so he can slide his cock farther back, shoving down through the ribbed grip of Jon's fingers into the heat of his mouth. There's saliva dripping out over the top of Jon's fist, glistening, and it shouldn't be hot but it really fucking is, it's exactly right, messy and slick. Lovett's getting Jon messy all over, precome smearing his lips, and he's going to come in Jon's mouth and kiss him until their faces are both dripping, and, and he's, he'll—

He comes, pushing in one more time, then one more again, thighs stiff and shaking with effort, hand tight on Jon's. "Oh, wow," Emily says, and Lovett's forcing himself back, kneeing away until he can lean down and reach Jon's mouth with his own.

It's exactly as wet and messy and gross and sexy as he'd expected, but he hadn't expected the way Jon would grab for his head and the back of his neck, the way Jon's leg is coming up to yank him down on top of Jon. He hadn't expected Jon to roll them over and start outright humping his thigh, but he's not fucking complaining, either. 

"Oh, that's—wow, okay," Ronan says. "I should have held off, I didn't know there was going to be a wrestling scene."

"Get him, Jon," Emily says, and yawns. "Ride that boy."

"It's a good thing he's wearing soft shorts, this is a real friction risk," Ronan comments.

Lovett groans, shoving his thigh up for Jon to rock against better. "The peanut gallery can maybe keep it down while Jon's, you know, finding his light. Finding his—whatever."

Ronan hmms. "The peanut gallery can offer the compromise of dirty talk."

Lovett ignores that, tilting Jon's face back to his and kissing him again, biting his bottom lip. He makes it showy, pulling Jon's lip down between his teeth, waiting for the "Oh god," he knows he'll get from Ronan. He gets a softer, warmer, "oh, wow," from Emily, too.

Jon's not talking at all; he's just grinding, desperate and fast, against Lovett. Lovett could offer something—his hand, his mouth, or just to bare Jon's cock for a different kind of friction—but there's something about this that's perfect. It's the basest version of Jon, the most animalistic. It's Jon needing to get off so much he can't wait or ask for anything, just taking anything he can get.

Lovett gives up on kissing him, just hauls him down and digs his teeth into Jon's shoulder. Jon's gasping against his hair, hips rabbiting, losing any real sense of rhythm. Emily's gone quiet and breathy, and Ronan just quiet, and Lovett digs his fingers into Jon's back.

He feels the jerk of Jon's body before anything else, before the grunt or the last harsh rolls of his hips. Jon jerks, and shudders, and then slowly collapses onto Lovett, as though one muscle at a time is giving up on fighting gravity.

Jon's quiet and heavy and sated for long minutes before he finds the strength to roll off of Lovett, still close against him. Lovett blinks into the light and finds Emily and Ronan still watching him—them—from the couch. "Hi," he murmurs, and both of them smile. Slightly different smiles: Emily open and easy; Ronan flirty and pleased.

Lovett can't really feel the molly anymore, or else he can feel it ten times more, weighing him into the floor. He tucks himself back into his shorts, finally, and Ronan curves off the couch towards him, a kind of half-baked forward roll that ends with Ronan curled up against Lovett's side, the side Jon isn't monopolizing. "Hey," Ronan tells him, quiet in his ear, breath tickling him.

Emily sighs and lifts off the couch, labored, and finds her way to Jon's other side. "Sleepy," she complains, settling against him. "Sleep."

Everyone's dick is away; they can sleep, and it doesn't matter when Tommy and Hanna get back, or even if the cleaners show up. "Okay," Lovett mumbles. "Sleep."

They do.


End file.
